O Tempora! O Mores!

After many years of abuse (mostly repeated droppings, mostly on concrete), it was decided that I need a new cellular telephone. I therefore made my way to the local cellular-telephone-store, fully prepared to have wares hawked at me. There is an almost antiseptic quality to such a store, what with its kiosks on an otherwise bare floor space. I suppose this is the most fitting sort of display for a technology so far removed from any sort of organic human experience. At least I was only there for a brief time: I stipulated that I needed a phone that I'll be able to use in Europe, and was pointed toward several options, of which I selected the cheapest and least modern. I was dismayed to find that it was a "smart" phone (am I using the proper terminology? I mean it was a phone with internet and a tiny little keyboard). Heretofore I had taken some consolation from the fact that I did not own a "smart" phone; was I to give up this source of satisfaction so easily? Alas, there were no other options. There can be, I confess, a fine line between Luddism and snobbery. I maintain that the amenities provided, beyond (or perhaps including) that of making phone calls, are patently unnecessary, and I felt as though pierced by the disapproving glance of Wendell Berry. But I now will use said amenities, nonetheless. Perhaps I should've put up more resistance? Probably. Shall I come to depend on these unnecessities? I do hope not. Is there a day when I shall give up the cell phone entirely? It is my fond desire, but not one I foresee fulfilled for a long while. In any case, I have resolved to limit my use as much as possible.

Concerning Taste

There is, as the saying goes, no accounting for good taste. (It stands to reason that there is likewise no accounting for bad taste either, but there really should be some accounting for no taste, for that is just another name for ignorance.) I have noted that certain acquaintances of mine cannot countenance certain composers, even composers that are widely accepted as part of the established canon. A fellow cellist at Augustana could not abide Copland, for example. And my organ teacher at Notre Dame has such an antipathy towards Vaughan Williams that his music irritates him almost to distraction. I happen to like both composers quite a bit. (Just now I was listening to RVW's The Lark Ascending, which I think to be a piece of surpassing loveliness.) I think I understand, however, why they provoke such a reäction in particular individuals: more than anything else, each has a distinctive harmonic language that one either likes (or, at least, tolerates) or doesn't. In both composers' cases there is a — what word ought I to use? — a charm to their works that overcomes their compositional deficiencies. (For, indeed, neither is formally a perfect composer. Vaughan Williams, in particular, has some very clumsily-written works, from a compositional standpoint.) What can be said of those people who fail to notice this charm? Well, that's what we can't account for, I guess.

The question that bothers me — that may keep me awake tonight — is how broadly such differences in taste can legitimately differ. I would venture to say that nearly half of my Lutheran parishioners (though a smaller fraction of my Episcopalians) have no fondness at all for the established canon of organ music, which is of course what I play. Much of this can be fairly attributed to ignorance (that is, no taste); most of it, I hope. I will not pander to the lowest common denominator, in any case. But I do wonder whether there is room for legitimate dislike of such music. Classically-trained musicians, after all, are taught to appreciate a certain body of music; can a person reasonably protest the established classical canon?

Rückkehr nach Wien

It is now fifty-four days until I will be leaving for Europe. As of now the itinerary includes several days in Vienna, then Prague, Erfurt, Tröchtelborn (a tiny town outside Erfurt where an organist friend of mine will give a recital), Halle, Leipzig, Magdeburg, Hannover, Norden (another small town, but home to perhaps the greatest Arp Schnitger instrument in the world), Hamburg, Roskilde, Copenhagen, and Stockholm. (I am also optimistic that we may be able to visit Lövstabruk and Östhammar, towns north of Stockholm, each with fantastic organs of their own.)

The organ-tour portion of the trip (basically everything from Erfurt onwards) will be a lot of fun, I don't doubt — I am attempting to reäcquaint myself with all of my North German repertoire that has proven less-than-ideal in Dixon — but at the moment I am especially excited to return to Vienna. Though by now I have surely forgotten nearly everything I learned about how to survive in that city, I remember it fondly. I am resolved that I shall catch a concert at the Musikverein, eat a Hot-Dog at my favorite stand in the Naschmarkt and some Döner at Schnitzel King (whose proprietor, though his brain is surely addled by a multitude of plum schnapps shots taken with visiting American students, is a very pleasant fellow), and visit the Kunsthistorisches Museum. (Holbein awaits!) Perhaps the only downside is that I will be horribly jet-lagged all the days that I am in Vienna, for we'll only be there three days and I am quite sensitive to such things. (Even the one-hour switch to South Bend time throws me off.) But no matter: it is Vienna. It will be glorious. And even if the weather is miserable — as it was for more than half the time, last time I was there — I will enjoy simply being back there. At the very least, it will give me an opportunity to write about it in my Vienna travel log.

Surrexit Christus

The Bible characters I most relate to are those who have no idea what's going on, those who are more or less ignorant of their place in the narrative of salvation. Perhaps for this reason I prefer the three women — who go to the tomb early Sunday morning — as they are described in the reading from Mark: "they went out quickly, and fled from the sepulchre; for they trembled and were amazed: neither said they any thing to any man; for they were afraid." People, with the exception of certain saints and poets, are generally not very good at recognizing the work of God: we are more likely to be doubtful, or confused, or "affrighted" (as the Authorised Version puts it), than to observe God's workings with serenity and joy. We do, if we are fortunate, have moments in which the utter mystery of God is somehow tolerable. Well, "tolerable" is not really the word I mean. I don't mean we merely tolerate God; I mean that there are moments in which Grace — which by its nature is uncomfortable for us — is not only less uncomfortable but actually comforting. I hope, dear reader, if you celebrate Easter, that you may have such a moment during this season.

Arvo Pärt: Passio

Arvo Pärt: Passio Domini nostri Jesu Christi secundum Joannem
(The Gospel of John, chapters 18-19)
This — the internets, that is — is just about the worst medium for a piece like Pärt's St. John Passion. The work is worth remembering, though. Here is some context: [1] [2] [3]

Organ Preludes and Postludes through Whitsunday

7 April (Easter Vigil):
Louis Vierne: Symphony No. 1, Op. 14 – VI. Finale
8 April (Easter Sunday):
Georg Böhm: Christ lag in Todesbanden
Louis Vierne: Symphony No. 1, Op. 14 – VI. Finale (reprised!)
15 April (1st Sunday after Easter, Quasimodo):
Healey Willan: Prelude on O filii et filiae
Flor Peeters: Hymn Prelude on Gelobt sei Gott
22 April (2nd Sunday after Easter, Misericordia):
Michael Praetorius: Vita sanctorum
Jean-François Dandrieu: Fugue sur l’hymne des Apôtres «Exultet»
29 April (3rd Sunday after Easter, Jubilate):
Edward Elgar (arr. W.H. Harris): Nimrod (from the Enigma Variations, Op. 36)
Ernst Pepping: Sonne der Gerechtigkeit
6 May (4th Sunday after Easter, Cantate):
J.S. Bach: Schmücke dich, o liebe Seele, BWV 654
Max Reger: Lobe den Herren, Op. 135a, No. 15
13 May (5th Sunday after Easter, Vocem Jucunditatis):
Joseph Jongen: Chant de mai, Op. 53, No. 1
Hermann Schroeder: Allegretto, Op. 9, No. 4
17 May (Ascension):
J.S. Bach: Prelude in D Major, BWV 532a
François Couperin: Messe des Paroisses - VII. Petite fugue sur le chromhorne
20 May (6th Sunday after Easter, Exaudi):
J.S. Bach: Fugue in D Major, BWV 532b
Max Reger: Jesus, meine Zuversicht, Op. 135a, No. 13
27 May (Pentecost):
Dieterich Buxtehude: Te Deum, BuxWV 218
J.S. Bach: Komm, Gott Schöpfer, Heiliger Geist, BWV 631